


wipe you clean with dirty hands

by fuckinghoechlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Canon Compliant, M/M, i have a thing for stiles riding derek at the moment, pwp basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckinghoechlin/pseuds/fuckinghoechlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Stiles rides Derek is right after they thought they were going to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. we pick ourselves undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ugh okay this is far from finished but i wanted to get it posted today for the Full Moon Challenge so here we are, i think i might end up adding a scene or two in between what's here right now in addition to the rest of the scenes i had in my head, but i'll just edit the work to add them instead of adding in chapters (probably)~~
> 
>  
> 
> ok so disregard all that, i have in fact added a scene into this part and i've made some other minor changes to this part of the work, a lot just rearranging phrases, adding a little more explanation to some parts, again pretty minor but i think it sounds a lot better and that everyone should at least reread this part for the added scene (indicated by a double set of lines) before going to the next chapter (the end) but okay wahoo i finished yay

The first time Stiles rides Derek is right after they thought they were going to die, go up in flames in the night, Lydia’s scream echoing too late in warning. He has one ankle still trapped in his jeans and the denim constricting Derek’s thighs scrapes harshly against him as he rolls his hips, presses back onto Derek and _takes_ , fingers trembling with how hard he’s digging into Derek’s chest.

He wants to trace the creases formed where Derek’s squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched as though he’s in pain, as though Stiles can’t feel the slight prick of claws in the grip on his waist. He gives a particularly sharp snap of his hips which tears a groan from between Derek’s teeth as he bucks up into Stiles, the angle just right and Stiles shudders, rhythm faltering before picking up, canting faster as his fingers find Derek’s throat.

He applies light pressure, enough so that he soon feels a low growl vibrating beneath his palm and he grins, something a little too like a razor and he can tell Derek wants to flip them, fuck into him with everything that hasn’t been burnt out of him, but Derek knows what this is, what Stiles needs.

So he lets Stiles dig his nails into his shoulders, lets him watch the careful control on Derek’s face even as Derek is shaking apart under him and Stiles pretends to be too lost in himself to hear the tiny shuddering breath Derek lets out when he comes, right after Stiles whines as he comes onto Derek’s stomach.

There’s a strange comfort after, just Stiles giving a soft, small smile before sliding off him. Derek watches as Stiles pulls his jeans back on, gives Stiles a crooked closed-mouth smile of his own, touches his shoulder as he walks out the door, and the spot burns all the way to the jeep. Stiles shrugs and drives home.

\--

The next time it happens, Scott and Stiles had almost been killed and Derek is angry. Not at Stiles, never really at Stiles anymore, but he’s furious, terrified at the vulnerability that’s leeched into his life. He’s barely keeping the roughness out of his movements as he undresses Stiles, who lets himself be handled onto his hands and knees on the bed that’s still inexplicably in the middle of the loft, but not without brushing his fingers over Derek’s on the back of his thigh as a small comfort, and Derek slumps against his back, breathing against the sharp jut of his shoulder blade.

Stiles turns around then, kneeling in front of Derek who is suddenly pliant, though it takes a few pushes at his shoulders before Derek eventually lies back, lets Stiles climb on him and straddle his waist.

“I’m still not enough,” and it’s so quiet, wavering and raw while Derek looks down toward the floor, the muscle in his cheek jumping. Stiles feels the spike in his heartbeat in time with Derek’s eyes fluttering closed. He reaches out to press his fingertips against Derek’s rough cheek, shaking his head as he leans forward, guides Derek into him.

It burns a little, sharp and real and he can’t stop watching Derek’s face, the way his lips peel apart slowly when he lets out a soft breath, how fragile his eyes look as they open wider and wider, a green so pale it’s impossible because Stiles has never understood the expression “drowning in his eyes” before, has never liked it, but the openness in Derek’s eyes is swallowing him whole, searing his skin and clenching in his stomach, sinking into him like the soft blue half-light that surrounds him when he wakes, alone, after a nightmare, aware of the tension in his throat from screaming himself awake. He squeezes his own eyes shut as he rocks back, unable to watch Derek come apart again, unwilling to acknowledge it.

He’s panting, it’s loud in his ears and Derek’s long fingers are brands against his back, climbing higher as he feels Derek shift against him, rise up until their chests are touching and Stiles’ cheek is against his ear and they breathe together, Stiles shuddering when Derek pushes into him and Stiles levers himself up before pressing down again, leaning to change the angle.

Derek grows a little more insistent, steady, and as they rock together Stiles can’t stop the words, “I’m sorry you still blame yourself” and “I wish I could show you, I wish I could convince you-“ but it’s lost to Derek’s teeth in his shoulder and his own sharp cry. Derek gives a few more uneven thrusts before his orgasm is pressed low and guttural into Stiles’ hair, aftershocks Stiles feels in slow circles against his spine, the sky a dawn grey that settles into his skin. He squeezes Derek, runs his hands down his forearms and over his wrists before climbing off him, going for the clothes piled at the foot of the bed.

He feels Derek’s eyes on his back as he pulls his shirt on and he can’t turn to look at him, just stoops to lace his shoes. By the time he glances back up, Derek’s waiting with the door open, reservation creeping back around his eyes. Stiles pauses over the threshold, looks over his shoulder as he says, voice low, “I’m glad you came back. There’s never a moment I’m not.”

The click of the lock is impossibly loud.

**\--**

Sometimes the sex reminds him of how they used to genuinely hate each other, when Derek was so infuriating Stiles was never entirely sure whether he actually wanted Derek dead or not.

Stiles can feel all of Derek’s frustration in the vicious bites to his neck as he slams back up into Stiles hard enough to knock the breath out of him. He responds in kind by gritting out, “Oh, fuck _off_ , you posturing asshole,” and his fingers dig hard enough to leave red crescents against Derek’s spine.

Derek growls, this feral, warning sound and it only encourages Stiles’ antagonizing, the roughness in the way he curls back against Derek, shoves down on his cock and _groans_ , challenging, “And of course I’m still doing all the work, you can nev-.” Stiles is always grateful afterwards for the way Derek rakes his nails down his back to make Stiles moan, keep Stiles from saying something too pointed, too obviously exploiting Derek’s vulnerabilities- grateful Derek knows how to save Stiles from his own maliciousness, especially since he never actually means it, not anymore.

But the gratitude only comes after, and the biting pressure against his skin only aggravates him further, pushes him to grind into Derek with all the resentment he can dredge up, all the anger lingering at the fact that near death experience has become his life ever since Derek came back into town, that there was once a time Stiles thought he’d never be able to look his dad in the eye again because disappointment seemed permanently etched into the deepening lines around his eyes.  Stiles lets the memories roil beneath his skin, burn through him and simmer, a heat coiled in his gut and he leans forward, grazes teeth against Derek’s earlobe and purrs, “Come for me, Derek. Come on, give it up,” and it’s cold, _mean_ , and Stiles feels a little guilty in the knowledge that Derek can’t seem to help but get off on people being cruel to him, his own fucked up experience conditioning him to associate cruelty with desire and sex and being what Derek deserves.

After Derek jerks beneath him with eyes shut tight and breathing stilled, Stiles comes onto his stomach with a low whine. He trails kisses across his chest in apology, presses his face into Derek’s shoulder for just a moment, already feeling vaguely nauseous that he even dared use that against him, but unable to say anything because he’s not sorry for _all_ of it, not sorry for being angry at Derek for things he could control, for the damage he wrought in his careless selfishness.

Stiles can never look at Derek’s face again after times like these, just dresses quickly, trails fingers against the inside of Derek’s wrist before leaving with his head down, his own accountability catching up to him as he furtively glances in the rearview.

**\--**

He knows he shouldn’t, knows he should keep these moments as formal and practical as possible, but Stiles starts to pay attention to what Derek likes when they fuck.

He catalogues the way he snarls when Stiles drags his hips in slow circles while digging blunt nails into his scalp, tugging and _tugging_ so he feels the sound vibrate through him. Stiles greedily locks away the sound of Derek’s quiet sighs as Stiles noses at the hinge of his jaw, lips almost touching as Stiles presses their foreheads together, their shared breathing almost more intimate than the kiss Stiles can’t bring himself to give, to _take_.

But Stiles’ favorite moments, the ones where he knows he’s so completely and utterly _fucked_ are when they’re both so close, Stiles’ back against Derek’s bent thighs as he rolls his whole body, hips almost erratic as he pushes his chest out, sitting proud and _sure_ on Derek’s lap, Derek whining beneath him. Stiles rides him like his fucking life depends on it, like he lives for the way Derek gives small thrusts in time with Stiles pushing back down, and Derek keens higher in between gasps and he stutters Stiles’ name. He can’t know he’s doing it because there’s no way he’d knowingly show this to Stiles, let him take his quiet desperation and want and keep it for himself.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do with such blatant trust, is terrified of himself in the face of having all of Derek even for one hot, flaring moment, and he hears “ _Stiles_ ” under him with so much awareness, so much of Derek’s inherent wildness that Stiles shouts out, eyes rolling back as he pulses between them. He wants to shut his eyes, doesn’t want to watch his own concession to this terrifying thing, but Derek’s eyes are so _blue_ and Stiles feels too small, feels his bones pressing against his skin as the possession in the set of Derek’s mouth thrums through him. Now Derek is watching him come open, taking for himself and Stiles suddenly feels hollowed out, scared, blinks as his eyes burn and he turns away.

He tugs out of Derek’s hold on his wrists, can’t bring himself to look him in the eye while he still burns, red all over and he’s trembling, somehow yanking his clothes on and stumbling out, gasping out strangled sobs as he curls up in the driver’s seat.

He feels the grey of dawn and impossible green in the marrow of his bones as he roars down the street.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed it so far, i'm ~~happyhoechlidays~~ mrthelma on tumblr if you wanna say hi
> 
> oh, work title is from "Spanish Sahara" by Foals and chapter title is from "Flaws" by Bastille


	2. muddy field where a garden was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And all he can think is oh shit oh shit oh shit when Derek grins, bright and eyes crinkled, and to be honest Stiles is a fucking idiot for thinking he could give this up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well here we are, the end of time. actually, if anyone's interested i'd totally be willing to fill any sort of prompt having to do with the 'universe' this fic is set in, or really any prompt, you can ask on here or on my tumblr (mrthelma) but thanks for reading and i hope this didn't spiral as far down into complete shit as i think it did

Eventually, Stiles knows, Derek will stop settling for a quick fuck before Stiles runs off to ignore the way this is evolving, that he’ll force Stiles to acknowledge that Derek trusts him so much he has a key to the loft and that the last time they did this Stiles left with eyes burning and a crack in his voice as he asked Derek to please let go of him he can’t do this right now.

But Stiles is willing to push his luck to its absolute limits, avoid the way Derek’s heart under his hands makes him shake all over and how he stops breathing when he presses his lips to Derek’s chin at the last second before kissing him, before giving away his final illusion that this is still just casual and convenient.

Derek whispers his name and it makes Stiles notice how his hands are shaking, that his breath is only coming in in in and he tries to climb off Derek, needs to leave, pull himself away from this, but Derek’s hands are at the back of his head and he just looks at him and says, “Breathe out,” over and over, counts out the seconds for him, never taking his eyes off Stiles’ face and it feels like the concern is literally fucking killing him but he can’t die yet because Derek’s forehead is against his and he’s saying, “You have to stop, Stiles, you can’t keep doing this, Stiles, please, it isn’t _fair_ ,” and his voice is just there, this steady firm thing that numbs his fingertips as they curl tighter and tighter.

Stiles just nods,  nods and realizes he can’t stop, breathing ragged and he’s so small and _scared_ and he _wants,_ wants so badly to give in, hears the blood in his ears pound with it, body thrumming with a low-grade vibration of wanting. He brings his hand to Derek’s cheek, brushes fingers over his mouth, breath stuttering when his fingertips catch where his lips parted.

Derek keeps breathing steadily, watching Stiles with eyes wide and undemanding, but Stiles can see the flare of hope in them when they catch the light just right, becoming an impossible translucent green as Derek tries to remain wary of leaving the decision with Stiles.

He takes a deep shaking breath and replaces his fingers with his lips, just a warm, firm press of his mouth, and he can’t help but huff at the small surprised noise Derek makes, at how he pulls back to look at Stiles but only waits a second before leaning in again to kiss him one, two, three more times, tiny, slightly wet kisses that spread through Stiles to his toes.

He laughs, startled and loud, and he keeps giggling as Derek drags his lips over his jaw, sucks lightly at his neck, stubble a soft scrape that burns just right. Then Stiles is groaning, tugging Derek’s mouth back to his and finally _taking_. Derek’s lips part as soon as he runs his tongue over them and Stiles finds something like the taste of rain and dawn in the warmth of his mouth, grins at the way Derek’s lips are swollen and red when he pulls back, but his smile gives way as he takes in Derek’s shallow panting and heavy eyelids, how dark his eyes suddenly are as his pupils dilate and Stiles’ throat tightens. Before he can even blink he’s begging, voice low and scratching, “Please, need you, need you right now, any way you want just-“ and Derek is surging forward, directing his momentum so he flips Stiles on his back before his mouth is on Stiles’, teeth biting his bottom lip sharply enough for Stiles to gasp and let Derek lick into his mouth as his fingers work him open again.

Stiles whimpers when Derek pulls away without warning, but then Stiles hears the click of a cap before he feels the cool sensation of lube on the fingers pressing back into him.

He doesn’t think it’s necessary, though, cause he’s only gonna last about two fucking minutes if he has to keep listening to Derek growling out, “Can’t even believe you, you actually thought it was just you, didn’t you? As if I could ever- god, Stiles, you drive me fucking _crazy_ , do you do this shit on-yeah, yeah come on, fuck, I love how loud you are,” and Stiles is coming undone, panting “god, just get your fucking dick in me, asshole,” and all he can think is _oh shit oh shit oh shit_ when Derek grins, bright and eyes crinkled, and to be honest Stiles is a fucking idiot for thinking he could give this up, give back these moments of Derek curled over him, dragging Stiles closer with hands hot and firm on his ass, Stiles arching into him so hard his spine aches and the sun is warm on the sheets wrapped around one ankle, which he kicks off to hook his legs behind Derek’s back.

The drag of his cock against Derek’s stomach is slow and hot and so _good_ , just the right amount of pressure as Derek thrusts into him, earning small, needy noises pressed into his shoulder and Stiles can feel a white hot burn at the base of his spine and then Derek is whispering in his ear, “I just want to be enough, I love you, tell me how to be enough, I never want to let you go, Stiles,” and he can’t think through the way he’s shuddering, choking out, “Don’t, don’t you ever fucking dare” and “You already are, you’ve always been more than-“ but Derek swallows the words, breathes in Stiles’ shout as he shakes through his orgasm, Derek following right after and Stiles can’t hold him close enough, pressing against Derek as though he’s trying to sink into him, settle across his bones, match his bone deep ache and stay there like he has the right to even though he’s taken so much already.

They stay like this for a while, Derek still inside Stiles and they kiss lazily, Stiles scratching against Derek’s scalp, Derek pulling Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth, pressing his face into Stiles’ neck and just breathing. And his skin feels quiet, settled, even after they clean up and get back in bed facing each other, Stiles’ right leg in between Derek’s and his head tucked under his chin, Derek’s palms broad and warm on his hip and back.

He mouths two words against Derek’s shoulder who hums softly, flexes the hand on his hip and Stiles hums back, skin finally fitting over the grey in his bones because somehow, he’s enough, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you guys so much! you can find me being mad about hoechlin at mrthelma.tumblr.com, and i'm willing to fill any kind of prompts or cry about teen wolf or merlin any time, YAY
> 
> oh, chapter title is from "Poison Oak" by Bright Eyes, and i'll be posting a playlist of music i listened to while writing this and the songs i got titles from


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